My Sister’s Chanclas

My sister had chanclas

made of rusty braids of sepia leather.

The ends of embroidery were frayed,

and the clasp had been molded permanently

to the third hole of the strap.

The undersole ridges were worn flat,

and the concrete would make a scratching shuffle noise

when she walked.

The oil of her feet pressed a perfect footprint

into the sole.

When my mom threw them away,

she snuck into the trashcan

and dug them out.

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